During the summers of the narrator’s youth, their father was still alive. At eight o’clock, they would make the trip to Hale’s Goods, and by nine o’clock, they would settle under the long shade of the oak trees to read the Times. Smoke would rise above them, resembling a slow, intent fire.
One day, while returning home at dawn, the narrator caught sight of their father’s books in the first shaft of mote-filled light. The books stood tall on the highest shelf, their gleaming jackets appearing as if they were alert to a reveille.
Later on, the narrator had the opportunity to encounter their father’s thoughts. They were just as ordered and calm as the books, which was something the narrator had never witnessed before. They were light-fused, much like the books. Despite their father being an edgy, chain-smoking man, he possessed a depth of knowledge and study that was reflected in his conclusions, which he voiced with a clear logic like theorems. This was a side of him that the narrator had never known existed, and it opened up new worlds for them.
